Life is a mystery

Life is a mystery,
with every day 
it becomes
clearer to me,
of who I am 
and what I am 
here to do.

Even on days,
when I understand
nothing at all
and all my life 
seems to make
any sense to me
or to anyone else.

Any direction I look
from where I am,
now,
be it past or future,
a story unfolds,
a story that has
to tell much and
nothing at the same time.

This, blink of an eye,
a tiny pearl on a neckless
of the Infinite,
searching for truth,
meaning and self 
through time,
dimensions 
space, and planets
as this little one.

aa where have you
come from,
and when shall you return?

That you, 
who you are me
and yet not me at all.

You tell me the story of time,
of me.
But why?

Cause when we 
just allow that past and
future to be,
all becomes clear to me. 

What I am, is this moment,
where I come from has
no true meaning and whereto
I shall go from here, 
neither does.

But how I am now, here 
at this moment,
tells the whole story.

Surrendered or fighting,
trying to figure out or get
things the way I feel I want?

What’s it going to be?
you? or me?
or we? 

the story?
past or future?
the right or wrong?

or ...

That what is?
That what gets clearer 
and then fades away,
just as it pleases
to be.